


Singed, Unburned

by Trobadora



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Power Dynamics, Sex in the TARDIS, unlikely allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: Missy looms over him, a presence immeasurably larger than her body. There's a glint in her eyes, a twist to her upper lip - she's radiating danger.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Missy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Public Call - Doctor Who fic exchange 2020





	Singed, Unburned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monkiainen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkiainen/gifts).



The TARDIS floor is cold under Jack's back. Missy is pinning his wrists to the deck above his head with a Time Lord's strength.

"I'm bored," she says, too brightly. "How lucky I've got the one person I can kill in frustration, _again and again_."

Jack's done a lot of crazy things in his life, but he'd never have thought he'd willingly put himself in this position. It's a thrill. His stomach gives a twinge, reminding him she's done this before - the Master _did_ kill him, over and over, in various creative ways during the year he held Jack and the Doctor captive on the _Valiant_. But he's not her captive now.

And he's not alone: the TARDIS is watching.

With the Doctor gone missing and Missy turning up in the TARDIS, Jack had feared the worst. But he knows the TARDIS, knows what she sounds and feels like when she's hurt, and she isn't. The TARDIS isn't being forced: she brought Missy to him, made them join forces, of her own accord.

The TARDIS allows Missy at the controls, but she's the Doctor's, as the Doctor is hers, and her priorities are clear. The one in control is the TARDIS, not the Master, however little Missy enjoys being reminded of it.

It's giving Jack that little edge of faith that lets him dare relax into this. Jack makes an effort - lets his body melt, grins up at her. Missy looms over him, a presence immeasurably larger than her body. There's a glint in her eyes, a twist to her upper lip - she's radiating danger.

Jack's always liked danger. And the Master's never been able to get the better of him, not truly, no matter how hard he tried. They both know that, too well.

If she wants to get under his skin - two can play at that game. He yawns into Missy's face. Loudly.

Missy doesn't flinch away. She purses her lips, her nose scrunching. Leans more heavily on the hand holding his wrists down. She's straddling him, the fabric of her dress drawn tight between her knees, stretching across his body. Touching him, though her body isn't. That's new. She tilts her head, examines him. He raises an expectant eyebrow.

She huffs. "You were much more entertaining last time I had you like this."

She's been near vibrating out of her skin, this last day since their last lead about the Doctor led to nothing. She's itching to _do_ something, anything. Itching for a fight, it looks like.

Well, tough. _You should know better, Mistress._

Jack knows how to get to her, too, knows her weak spots - learned how to hit every one of them right on target during that year on the _Valiant_. And for all that the Master tried his Time Lord best to do the same to him - and wasn't that the stuff of nightmares - Jack always came back to life, fully restored. Indestructible, indomitable - the Master's worst nightmare. 

In the back of his mind, the TARDIS's telepathic field hums its comforting presence. 

"Entertaining?" Jack repeats, scoffing. "What, me screaming in pain and you screaming in frustration? Didn't know you were a masochist."

Missy bares her teeth. "Would you like to oblige me? I can make you scream in pain again. Begging for it, are you?"

She can. He doesn't think that's quite what she's after. "Try me."

"Maybe I will." She smirks at him, gives an exaggerated, conspirational wink, but Jack can see the tension lurking beneath. In her previous incarnation she'd have lashed out already. She's less volatile - less rashly destructive - now.

He's not her captive any more, and she's not his torturer. If they weren't both searching for the Doctor, neither of them would be here, but they are. And she can't help wanting to test him, any more than he can help wanting to prove she still can't get the upper hand. It's a match made in - well, somewhere that isn't hell. 

Hot as hell, though. No complaints about that.

Like this, Jack can see it clearly: she and the Doctor are two of a kind. They're sharp-edged brilliance, a loneliness beyond what mere company can assuage, a drive - an intensity - so compelling it's impossible to look away. Missy's isn't softened by kindness, that's all. 

Jack knew it on the Valiant, too, but the Master's edges cut too deeply then to see the appeal. Now, she draws him like a moth to a flame, a temptation he doesn't want to resist. Who cares if he gets singed a bit in the process?

Missy shifts above him, kicks his legs apart. Her knee comes down against his groin. He gasps - can't hold it back, doesn't try - and she presses down against his already half-hard cock. His skin feels raw, yearning for touch. Her hand is firm and hard around his wrists, her bony knee pressed tight against his groin, the only direct points of contact.

"You're so predictable," she huffs, unknowingly echoing the Doctor, who'd said the same thing in a not entirely dissimilar situation. Jack laughs, and she grinds her knee down harder, just at the edge of pain. 

Jack breathes through it, feels his cock surge to full hardness as it rushes through him, white-hot. He knows Missy, by now: if it's _at the edge_ , she means it to be just that, not one bit less or more. It's a reminder, a threat, a promise that she can do worse.

He licks his lips, gives her a saucy wink: a reminder of his own. And then rolls his hips up against her knee, his cock seeking pressure, seeking friction. 

"Think you're clever, do you?" She is leaning above him, her blue eyes dark with arousal she won't admit to, with cruelty and curiosity, with something shivering and impatient.

It's a distraction, this: for both of them. They both need it.

"We'll find him," he tells her. Just to annoy her with the _we_.

She snarls. Leans heavily on the hand pinning his wrists, the knee in his groin. He hisses with the pain, the pleasure, the thrill. Her other hand closes around his throat. "Shut up," she hisses.

Her fingers are placed very precisely: she could easily cut off the blood flow to his brain. Or rip his throat out, if she didn't mind he blood splatter. Jack thinks about throwing her off. She's balanced rather precariously, in this position. He could. He might die from it, but that's not much of a threat, for him.

Missy's eyes bore into his. They both could; they both know. 

A breath passes, and another. Jack doesn't, and neither does she.

Jack offers Missy an exhilarated grin, grinds his cock up against her knee. 

She leans further towards him. "Do it, then," she says, very softly. 

He obeys. Lets himself focus on the pressure against his cock, lets himself take what his body craves: thrusts his hips up against her, head thrown back and moaning, first deliberately, then abandoning himself to pleasure.

She's hovering above him, holding still, watching him avidly. She's getting off on this too, he's sure. She drinks him in, holding still as he helplessly bucks up against her again and again, rutting against her knee, pleasuring himself in the confinement of her hold.

He doesn't try to prolong it, lets his orgasm come quickly.

She's on her feet while he's still dazed from it, and standing above him with her hands on her hands when he can catch both breath and focus. Her expression is pinched. 

Jack, in deliberate unconcern, brings his arms down from their forced position above his head, rolls his shoulders to work out the familiar, delicious strain. Examines at his wrists: doesn't look like she's left any bruises. Shame.

"Well, that passed the time," Missy says briskly, and moves to the console, running the same scans for another fruitless time.

She doesn't leave the console room, though. Doesn't kick Jack out.

Jack smiles to himself. He doesn't feel like getting up just yet. He rolls onto his side, adjusts himself in his sticky underwear, and lounges comfortably on the floor as he watches her move around the time rotor. 

He's not sure either of them won this round, but there will be others. And if they go the same way, he won't complain. Doesn't mean he's forgotten how dangerous she is. But that's the thing - he's always liked playing with fire.

He wonders what the Doctor will say when he finds out.


End file.
